Always Had A Fondness For You
by princess-pynkk
Summary: Mrs. Lovett claims she was always fond of Mr. Todd- and of Benjamin Barker before him. But, what was their relationship? How did she develop that fondness? Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you... the past.
1. Always Had A Fondness For You

_Hello loves. This is the first multi-chapter I've attempted to write, and I'm going through a bit of writer's block, so I figured I'd get some feedback on what I do have._

_I still do not own Sweeney Todd or Eleanor Lovett. Though I would do naughty, naughty things to both of them if I did own them. _

_This is, of course, based on the Depp/Bonham-Carter interpretations. Though I think the original and the revival are both amazing casts...they just aren't...well...they're not as sexy. /_

_On with the story!_

She missed the oven.

She wasn't entirely sure how she'd managed it, at first. After all, she had been terribly caught up in him, how warm and passionate he seemed, twirling around in a Devil's waltz.

Then she had realized where they were headed. She acted on impulse, she supposed. When he threw he toward the fire, she had somehow caught hold of the edge, and pulled herself out.

She then fell to the floor, in a pool of blood which she was certain wasn't her own. She laid there and cradled her hand, which was now severely burnt, and tried to gather some energy before Sweeney realized she had not burned to a crisp in the oven and he tried to kill her a second time.

Luckily, she was helped by the fact of Sweeney's trance-like obsession with Lucy's body. She suspected that he hadn't even really noticed she'd escaped, with the way he was calmly cradling Lucy's dead body.

She really hadn't meant any harm. Sure, she could have told Sweeney the truth- that his wife was still alive, but was a babbling, homeless, prostitute shell of the Lucy he had known. Her hair wasn't even yellow anymore; the years had turned it a rather sickening shade of grey, one that looked like it belonged more on the end of a mop than on the head of a human.

Still, it was yellow Sweeney saw then. She could tell, by the look in his eyes, that it was his Lucy, his songbird that he was seeing. He didn't see the withered woman she had become; only the beauty she had been.

She huffed slightly at this. He had always only seen the good in Lucy. She was a sweet girl around him, true. But if only he had seen...

The presence of another entering the room caught both of their attention. She saw Toby grab the razor, still open from Sweeney's attempt on her life, and head for his throat. She couldn't blame the lad; after all, he'd been traumatized, and he probably figured she was dead, what with her screams and the oven door being shut and locked. He was probably out for revenge.

Pity it had to be the boy.

She pulled herself up as quietly as possible, groaning slightly at her protesting joints. She reached down to the floor beside her and grabbed a...femur? Well, it would have to do. She tried her best to imagine she was throwing it for some dog to fetch, and chucked it directly at Toby's head.

It hit him solidly at his temple, and he dropped. She hoped he was knocked out, rather than dead, but didn't have a chance to check.

For Sweeney had just realized she was still alive.

He dropped Lucy's body tenderly (if one can drop something tenderly), and he was after her. He didn't think to grab the blade from the now-bleeding boy, thankfully for her, but instead came after her with a growl of nearly feral viciousness.

He swung at her, and she dove toward Toby. She managed to get to his body quickly, and she grabbed the razor. She folded it, hoping she wouldn't need to use it. She then sidestepped to avoid a now-charging Sweeney, and he hit the wall behind her.

That didn't seem to stop him, though. He came charging after her again, and she ducked as quickly as she could. He caught her hair, however, and laughed, wickedly triumphant as he pulled it.

She screamed, though she hated giving him the pleasure, and started scratching at him to get away. She did free herself, but not without loosing quite a chunk of hair in the process. She clutched her burning scalp with a free hand while she tried to get the razor open with the other. Her hair was now falling about her shoulders and in her face, for his pulling had dislodged her buns, and she struggled to open the razor from behind a veil of auburn curls.

She was panicking, which certainly didn't help, but she suddenly realized that he wasn't coming after her again. She pulled some of the hair out of her eyes to observe him, and was surprised to see the shock in his eyes as he studied her. She could see wheels turning in his head. She didn't understand why until she realized:

Her hair was down.

He stuttered as he spoke his revelation.

"N-nellie? Little Nellie? You...You're Nellie?"

* * *

_That, my darlings, is what we call a cliffhanger. A shitty one, but one none the less. _

_Read and review and all that good nonsense. If you must be cruel, be kind about it. 3_

* * *


	2. The Butcher And The Baker: Part I

_Hello darlings._

_So. My mother just had a baby. And you all will never guess who has become the live-in baby watcher._

_I've been trying to write in my spare time, but the sleeping thing has been taking priority as of late._

_I still don't own Sweeney Todd, yadda yadda, on to the chapter!_

* * *

_20 Years Earlier_

Nellie sighed and nursed her newest bruise. This one was slightly visible above the neckline of her shift, and she knew it needed to get better. Fast.

She pressed the damp cloth to the discolored skin, wincing as she pressed a little harder. This one was a bad one. She could see the imprint of the tenderizer showing a little darker than the rest, and she sighed.

Why did she have to put up with this man?

He was not her father. No matter how much her mother tried to insist he was just as good, he was not. Her father had never hit her. Her father had never raised his voice toward anyone. Her father hadn't ignored her every desire to focus only on spoiling his son.

Partly because he didn't have a son. Edward had a son. Her father did not.

She had been her father's joy, his heart. He had loved her mother dearly, but it was "Little Ellie" who owned his heart.

His murderer had never been discovered. Not that he hadn't been found. Anyone who knew her mother's husband knew the killer. But the authorities didn't care about a poor Baker with a poor wife. So they received poor justice.

The trial of her stepfather had been the first of the new Judge's, and he had wanted to get in good. And her stepfather was a member of Parliament. A low member, but a member none the less. "Turpin!" Her new stepfather had called out after the 'not guilty' sentence was issued, "You're a good man. You'll go far!"

Her mother married her father's murderer out of necessity, and they had a son. But the pregnancy had taken a lot out of her, and she had bled a lot. The doctor had said she would never have the strength to walk or stand alone again. She would never see when Edward raised his mallet against her only daughter.

He was forced to become a butcher, because it was his family's profession. After the murder scandal, the government decided it would rather not have the bad publicity hanging over their heads. So, they "let him go to carry out his family tradition."

He hated it. He had gone into government work to escape the lowly life of a butcher. Nellie hated it too, seeing as he took his frustrations out on her.

When he first started hitting her, it was for the things she did wrong. If she messed up a customer's order, or if a pie came out burnt. It would just be a smack on the knuckles, then a smack on the shoulder, then a smack across the face. She tried to become accustomed to it, but then he started using what he had in the butcher room. The blunt edges of knifes, a side of beef, most often the tenderizers.  


He loved the tenderizers. She despised them.

Then there was always Albert Lovett. Albert was sweet, kind... at least to her mother's face. Alone, he was a cruel, chauvinistic asshole.

He was a regular customer and aspiring baker. He would come with his wife every day, and make comments about Nellie's "pies," how she could "make them better," how she ought to "let him help her." He was a pervert, and his continued attempts on her body parts proved it.

She sighed and laid the cloth back into the water basin. She looked out the window, praying to any God that may have existed.

"Please, oh please, send me a Savior."

* * *

_Yay new chapter! I'm really not fond of this chapter, but Mrs. Lovett kinda always seemed like she'd been abused...It's cliche', I know, but I think it fits alright._

_Thank you for all of your continued reviews and support! It makes me want to write. :3_


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